


Bridge

by gala_apples



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Prostitution, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Pepper occasionally hire prostitutes to bridge the gap between them. More often than not they're META-positive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridge

Tony is not one of those morons that thinks he can save the world, alright? That's more the Pepper type. Or at least Pepper saves shit the normal way; by sacrificing and being empathetic and scheduling positive change on her infinite To Do lists. Meanwhile Tony saves things by throwing money at them. It sounds tacky, but he's never met a charity or a grungy person inside a bus shelter that hasn't been glad to receive a handful of cash. So it's not tacky. Or it is, but it doesn't matter. One of the two.

He doesn't particularly want to save the world anyway. Tony quite likes the world the way it is. He doesn't want to stop anyone from listening to loud music that will make them go deaf ten years from now. He doesn't want to pluck the evil drugs out of people's hands, or force them to remember they love their girlfriend instead of fucking strangers behind her back. He doesn't want to stop fights, or topple big corporations, or protect endangered animals. His extent of saving is wanting sad people to feel happier.

So it's kind of a piss off when he gets accused of it. 

“Oh fuck you,” Tony explains. “I'm not saving shit.”

Bruce tosses his head to the side and snorts. The movement makes his shaggy hair bounce before sliding back over his left eye. “Oh, really? You hire a hooker and then decide you just want to hang out, and you're not saving me from the horrors of my job? Hate to break it to you, but whether or not I suck your cock, some bloke is going to be fucking me against a brick wall in an hour.”

Tony knows that. He's not a jackass. Fucking people is Bruce’s job, just like Rhodey does what The Man wants, and Pepper schedules the universe into a manageable order. Eight hours a day -at least- doing boring, tedious shit, with the occasional thrill or laugh. Tony doesn't want to stop Bruce from getting paid to fuck. He just wants to be that thrill. And he's not going to impress Bruce by fucking him, no more than he'd impress Happy by taking him on a road trip.

“Look, your time is my money, right? So why can’t you just sit down and watch Monty Python with us?” Okay, so watching television isn’t exactly a mindblowing adventure. Offering Bruce a ride on the back of his Ironman suit seems like a bit much though. In any case the question doesn't deserve the scowl that’s taking over Bruce’s face.

"No, Tony. His ass is your money, and this is a business transaction. You're offending him right now. So shut up and take a drag.” 

It’s then that Tony realises META is already in the air. Metamorphosis is a drug that works on everyone. About eighty percent of people get high like they’ve only smoked marijuana. The other twenty percent is where META gets interesting. Twenty percent of people have brutal physical or mental reactions. Mutations might be the better word. Tony doesn’t understand all of it, he’s not that kind of PHD. He could get it if he really studied it, but mystery makes the phenomenon all the sexier. 

Pepper is sprawled on the couch, the resting point of the triangle compared to both men standing. The joint is pinched in her fingers, arm splayed in an offering to him. It's letting off a steady stream of smoke, the cherry still burning red. Tony shakes his head. There’s no need for either of them to smoke it. Pepper acquired them a META-positive prostitute, but he and Pepper are both META-negative. A slight buzz is all they’ll get. If Tony’s getting buzzed, he’s always preferred alcohol to drugs.

Bruce seems to take the refusal the wrong way. He picks up his denim jacket and plain white shirt from the back of the chair and starts towards the door. Right. I'm leaving,” he declares unnecessarily. 

“Consider his money for my turn.” Pepper says. She rises to her feet and crosses the room in a manner of seconds. Pepper’s always efficient, in everything she does. 

Pepper spins the joint in her hand so the wet end is facing out, then holds the thing close to Bruce lips. Bruce puts his lips on the tip, content to let Pepper hold it for him. He sucks and his cheeks balloon, holds in the smoke for a count of ten before exhaling. He doesn't cough. Surely he's done this before. At this point he's completely in control of his own reactions, everything formulated to impress his Johns. Tony can understand that. After all, he’s got a board of directors he answers to on occasion.

Tony occupies himself with making an elaborate drink as he waits for the effects to kick in for Bruce. If Tony was having a threesome with anyone else; fashionista or model or reporter, this would be the point at which he’d start the foreplay. But Pepper wouldn’t like that. The only way she agrees to these games is with an META-positive to give a reason for them. Tony likes her, and he doesn’t buy that she doesn’t like him, but intermediary hookers are fine until she changes her mind. So he just layers his alcohol over small cubes of ice and waits. Not that he knows what he’s waiting for. If Bruce told her any details, Pepper didn’t divulge. Being his assistant so long she knows he’d rather not know. Too much planning takes away the thrill of a situation.

As he takes his first sip two things start to happen. The first is Bruce’s skin starts to take on a green hue. Tony wants to make an urbane joke about chlorophyll, but he’s too fascinated by the tendrils that have begun to sprout from his torso to really give it the polish it needs. The witticism dies on his tongue as they get longer and thicker. It becomes obvious they’re not tendrils. They’re tentacles. Tony’s never given much thought to human-octopus hybrids, but if he had he would have figured the person in question would exchange legs for eight thick tentacles. Instead they’re coming out of his chest and back, some as thick as arms, and there are far more than eight.

“Oh wow. Oh wow, that’s just great. I don’t know if you did this on purpose, but Pepper? Seriously, perfect.”

She doesn’t bother to answer, and her smile could mean anything, but Tony decides to take it as a _I am Pepper Potts and I am quietly brilliant_ smile. Which, honestly, she deserves to wear at all times.

Bruce doesn’t offer to take his pants off, and Tony doesn’t ask. He only needs to be told so many times that pleasure is a business transaction before it sticks. What he and Pepper want is his upper half, no need for the lower half to get involved.

He leans to light the incense- no need for the room to stink of META all night. That’s when it happens. Tony feels the smooth sensation of a thin tentacle parting his cheeks. It’s slick, much wetter than Tony thought it would be. It’s hard to say what’s hotter, the idea that while his back was turned Pepper’s delicate but fiercely capable hands ran up the length of Bruce’s tentacle to coat it in lube, or the idea that his tentacles know their purpose and self-lubricate in preparation.

Tony opens his mouth to ask, but never gets the words out. He’s rudely interrupted by the first moan of the night; Pepper’s. She’s back on the couch, this time nude. Bruce is standing close enough that her foot is appears braced on his stomach. Closer inspection shows it isn’t. Her leg is jacked into the air and held in place by a long winding tentacle around her knee and thigh. The position forces her legs apart, giving him access. Bruce’s second tentacle isn’t in Pepper, Tony can tell by how much of it he can still see. What it is doing is undulating over her clit. From the way Pepper’s arching up to meet him, Tony almost wishes he had a cunt. At least for that second. Then the tentacles tip nudges against his asshole, while another prods heavily against his perineum. It’s enough to make a man stagger and put down his drink, not really caring if it lands on a flat surface or slips and pours across the rug.

Tony wants to stand nearer to both of them, but he can’t take more than a step before he’s dropping to his knees. It’s too much to focus on walking. Tony’s had a lot of good sex in his life. He owns nearly every sex toy there is, and has been with women -and men- that have owned the rest. And he can’t think of one that would match the ecstasy of Bruce’s tentacles around him and in him. He isn’t on his knees for more than a second when Bruce decidedly takes charge. With yet another tentacle, this one nearly as thick as an arm, Bruce curls around Tony’s hips and thighs and drags him closer. He nearly comes at that display of power, never mind the tentacle sweeping across his prostate like the best cock in the world.

After that it gets a little hard to count. They’re surrounding him, overwhelming his senses. He’s got unrelenting pounding in his ass, rippling around his balls, pulling on his hair, and wide strong ones holding him still, making sure he takes it all. 

Some infinite time later, Pepper starts moaning. Tony knows that sound from other META nights. That’s the sound of Pepper on her third orgasm, limbs quivering as the person touching her doesn’t let her calm before revving her up again. It’s enough to push him over the edge, and when he opens his mouth to groan Bruce stuffs his mouth with another tentacle so no sound comes out. It adds a kick to Tony’s orgasm, and makes him smile once Bruce pulls out and out and out.

Tony takes a second to get his breath even, and then turns for a better viewpoint on the couch, where Bruce is still playing Pepper like a instrument. “I’m not going to say you’ve ruined me for sex with anyone else. Because, let’s face it, I’m Tony Stark. But I am saying that if you have a card, I’ll take it. I speak for both of us when I say repeat customer.”

Bruce smirks. “I’d answer ‘as long as you can pay’, but like you said, you’re Tony Stark. You could pay a thousand mes with money left over.”

Tony is not ashamed to admit his spent dick gives an interested twitch at the mental image of that many tentacles. All the better if they’ve got Bruce -and his attitude- attached. He’ll use the image to entertain himself the next time he gets stuck at a function he’s forced into.


End file.
